Troy Ave - Cuffin' Season (Remix) (Lyrics - Paroles)

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Troy Ave - Cuffin' Season (Remix) (Lyrics - Paroles)

Troy Ave - Cuffin' Season (Remix) (Lyrics - Paroles)
My dough keep flippin when Iím lookin up (6 Oís)
She know itís no kissin, take the dick and fuck
Yall keep slippin, we be grippin up
We donít get to diss em, we just hit em up

BSB records, we the new shit
Itís Troy Ave case you wondering who this
Real nigga from the streets, we are not the same
Either pussy or some paper when my phone ring
Hoes keep calling I ainít picking up
Labels keep calling, I need bigger bucks
Get a mill, hit me on the walkie
Til then all my mills off then forget the talkin
White Empire State throwin dice
Married to the game, no ring, just ice
Cool young nigga, neck full of freezer
Furs to the floor, no respect for the PETA
Girls only fuck so respectin the peda
Short stop baby, gotta call Derek Jeter
I 2 can put it on for the city
You ainít heard a niggs buzzin this big since 50
Get riches, die tryin, use iron when Iím thievin
Niggas know I will, son, I donít play for Phoenix
36 a bird, what you payin for my CDs
Get a extra quarterback, both 100 grams sold
All work pays nigga,
All my homies eatin nigga, fuckin X and Tre nigga
I came for the money, you can keep the fame
In the street niggas funny, Iím in the streets with J
Why you at All Star weekend like a bitch with no panties?
Why you goin to LA when you ainít offered no Grammy
2 words, one meaning get rowdy
And I donítí like them niggas, and I donít like nobody like em
Hear these red nose go with they phonies again
Wanna stand in my section, let the hoes get in
Outside lookin like a welfare line
Cus word of mouth say I really live my rhymes
They came to feel the energy, itís something thatís true
And the bitches jump fuckin, make me they boo
Who? Who? Cry me a river, tears of joy
I brought New York City back, young boy Troy muthafuckas
Came here to thank me later
But if you donít thank me then we know you a hater

Iím the reason
Iím the reason why the city is even respected again
What we even talkin bout?
Fuck outta here mane
You see these truck ass niggas
Real deal, Holyfield right here
I look and sound like New York, right now itís real hard to find
We ainít surfin no waves
We are the wave, believe me
BSB Records
I come through how I do
With the classic feel so you know that itís real
The fuck going on mane?
These other niggas jump, man whatís goin on?
These is rasta pasta
I sound like the subway
I sound like the brand new Benz merkin off on the streets hittin a pothole
I sound like going to the corner store at 4 in the morning for a fuckin dutch
I donít sound like no bouncy turn up
Itís dream club, get the fuck outta here, bullshit mane
Troy Ave
BSB Records
Countin money, let me turn the mic up so you can hear it
This is money
Yea, Iím getting that nigga
I get it off the ground
Niggas ainít neva took chips out of 10
Cobaine tell these niggas
This rap shit is easy nigga
Kid you ainít neva had the butterflies in yo stomach
When a flash of light pullin up
While you in the F150
On yo way to CT
With a bird and a half allegedly
You donít know what, you ainít here before mane
Motherfuckin 750 grams each
In the lining of the sweat suits sittin near the stomach
Like how you tolt the hamme
We had, we had it there
You hold this part, you hold that part
Because in our head we thinkin
We heard some with that
If you got less than a brick then you get less time
So we both got 7 50 and we get caught then we getting less time
These niggas ainít the real deal Holyfield mane
Troy Ave nigga
I donít know bout that other shit
I represent what New York is about
I represent the streets, I represent being fly
I represent getting money
Iím charismatic like a motherfucker
The bitches love me
And my nameís solid gold

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Troy Ave

Titre: Cuffin' Season
Featuring(s): Remix
Tags : Troy Ave, Remix,